


Pilot

by nakedbrownie (orphan_account)



Series: Aphasia [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Psychological Trauma, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:05:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nakedbrownie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank never thought he'd be thankful to his parents for sending him to a mental institution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilot

Frank was the new patient in New Jersey Behavioral Health Center. He was a young, queer kid who ended up in psychiatric ward after being hospitalized when he attempted suicide by overdosing sedatives. He was forced in this asylum when the doctors told him he was free to go home because his family wanted to get rid of him and the problems he caused. He hated the thought of being there, he hated his parents and he hated his life. He would try killing himself again if he had the chance, so maybe it was a good idea to send him to an institution but Frank couldn't see it; he was blindly mad at the world for making him go through all this shit. 

He had easily accepted himself when he realized he was gay but he was naive to think everybody was as open minded as himself. He was bashed and bullied every day since he came out, or the Day of Damnation as he’d like to call it. He thought he was strong enough to put up with it alone as he didn't have many friends and his family assumed his "illness" could be cured by sending him to counselors. They weren't aware that he was falling deeper and deeper in a depression. When he couldn't take it anymore and tried killing himself, his father thought this was a good opportunity to send him away and her mother agreed. So there he was, about to be locked in a madhouse with a bunch of recovering psychos and he knew he was going to hate every second of it even before he entered the old building. 

The friendly environment surprised him. He looked around and examined the rather old furniture as his mother filled out some papers and his father talked to a good looking man, probably in his late thirties, who would occasionally look up to see Frank as they quietly conversed. When his mother was finally done with the papers, they walked out to say their goodbyes. His father just stood there, "See you, son," he said, avoiding eye contact. Frank was shocked to see tears in his mother's eyes when she hugged him and whispered, "Take care, dear. I'll miss you." 

Frank watched his parents leave his new home. He felt someone behind him and turned around.

"Well, Frank! My name is Malcolm Watkins," the man whom his father was talking to earlier said, extending his arm for a handshake, "and we'll be working together to solve your problems here."

Frank hesitantly shook his hand. He thought he was too cheerful for a psychiatrist. People who smile all the time for no apparent reason have always pissed him off and he disliked Dr. Watkins already. 

"Your bags are already carried to your room," Dr. Watkins said. "This is Simone, she'll show you around." He patted Frank's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll love it here." 

Frank was glad that the annoying doctor was now heading back to his office. The old woman looked nicer. 

"Welcome, Frank- I believe that's what your name is," said the nurse with the dark skin and black, curly hair. Frank nodded, still standing there extremely awkwardly. "My name is Georgie."

She reminded Frank of creepy old women in horror movies who were possessed by the devil, but that was probably just him. He was too used to dislike anybody and everybody the second he met them. He heard Simone say something about guiding him to his room, he really wasn't paying attention but he followed her. They walked through a long corridor which had wooden walls, then they stepped in a spacious saloon. There were a few patients sitting on the seemingly comfy sofas. He was lead to one of the doors circling the saloon. Simone opened it and Frank entered his room. He looked up and examined the walls, the paintings. His bed was neatly made. 

"There’s a group therapy in 10 minutes, Frank," said Simone. "You'll get to introduce yourself and meet your new friends here." She smiled warmly and closed the door, leaving Frank alone.

Awesome. Now he had to talk about himself. More people to judge and hate him. He sighed and turned around to look for his bags.

"Hey Frankie!"

Frank blenched and looked up to see a tall man with brown, frizzly hair perched on the counter in the corner of the room. He hadn't noticed him before. 

"Sorry, I scared you," said the young man as he jumped off the counter and approached Frank. "I'm Ray."

"I hate it when people call me that," Frank responded. Ray grinned and sat on Frank's bed. He didn’t seem to be much concerned that his new friend wasn’t as enthusiastic to meet him as he was.

"Nice to meet you too! Apparently you're my new room mate. I liked the old one… His name was Takashi. His mother was Japanese, I think. He was born in Japan, too. He had an amazing Japanese accent. I loved listening to him even though I had no idea what he was talking about. I love accents, you know. Accents and different cultures. Where are you from?"

Frank couldn't believe a human being could talk that much. He stared at Ray blankly for a while before muttering, "New Jersey," then quickly adding "I'm half Italian though," when he saw the disappointment in his eyes. 

"Awesome, man! Sucks you don't have an accent though. I think accents are amazing. I've always wanted to be multilingual. Can you speak Italian? I can speak German, Spanish and a bit of Korean-"

"Yeah that's awesome," Frank interrupted, "but I think I need to go to some group therapy."

"Oh, right! I completely forgot about that. It's held in the common room. Everybody has to join the group therapy. That's why it's called 'group therapy'. It looks scary at first but believe me, it's quite fun. We sometimes do exercises and sometimes we just sit around and tell each other-"

"That sounds great. Can we go now?"

Ray stood up and headed to the door. He grabbed the knob and turned his head to Frank before stepping out. "It's hard to make friends here, Frankie. I hope we get along well."

"I told you I hate being called Frankie!" Frank yelled after him. "But I hope so too," he murmured. He didn't hate his room mate so much. Actually, he may even have liked him. He walked out of the room and looked for Ray. There were about 15 people in the saloon. He noticed a chubby, blond guy sitting in the corner, doing something with his hands like he was beating the air. 

"What's he doing?" Frank asked once he caught up with Ray.

"That's Bob. He thinks he's the drummer of a band called My Chemical… something. I don't know. He's a nice guy though, when he's not drumming." Ray giggled and pointed to another man sitting on an armchair, watching TV. "That's Michael. He has anatidaephobia."

"What does that mean?"

"The fear that somehow, somewhere, a duck is watching you."

"Oh," said Frank. "I see."

"And that's Peter," continued Ray. "I think he attempted suicide."

Frank suddenly felt insanely tense. Ray didn't know why he was here and Frank really didn't want to tell anyone. He felt so cowardly, so weak, irresponsible and selfish. He was afraid he'd have to admit why he was thrown here - he wasn't ready to face his problems yet - and now he felt like Ray was about to ask him. Thankfully, their chat was interrupted when a young woman entered the saloon. 

"Good evening, gentlemen," she said. "How's everyone doing?"

A couple of patients answered her, some just nodded. Ray remained indifferent and continued telling Frank about the other patients. Frank wasn’t listening to him at all, he was lost in his thoughts and fears, when he saw a young man with jet black hair sitting on the other side of the room, drawing something so passionately he didn’t even notice that the doctor was there.

“Who’s that?” Frank asked, interrupting Ray again. He looked up to see who he was talking about, and smirked when he figured it out. 

“His name is Gerard,” he said. “He’s a very calm guy. He pretty much doesn’t do anything but sit in his corner all day and draw. Apparently, he hasn’t spoken for years.”

Frank’s jaw almost dropped open at how beautiful he looked when his hazel eyes burned as he finished another drawing and flipped the page, immediately starting a new one. “Why won’t he speak?” he could ask, not looking away for a second.

“I don’t know,” Ray said. “No one knows. He can’t tell us why.” He laughed at his own joke. 

All of a sudden, Gerard looked up from his drawing and their eyes met for the first time. Frank felt a jolt all the way to his toes. It was a millisecond before Gerard went back to his art but it felt like hours to Frank. Suddenly, he didn’t hate this place that much. He was blushing as they sat in a circle to start the therapy.


End file.
